by A W Hartoin
Tiny held up a finger. “Didn’t your mama teach you that no means no?”
“Where’d you come from?” I asked.
“Bathroom,” said Tiny.
“I am going to interview her,” said Hatchet Nose, gathering the shredded remnants of his dignity.
Mom called out from behind Tiny, “Even if you got in, I have nothing to say to you!”
The agent went stiff and did an about face. “Your father will have her talk to me.”
“Don’t count on it,” I said. “But since I’m such a nice person, I’ll let you in on something. She doesn’t remember anything of value, so you may as well beat it.”
Hatchet Nose didn’t reply. He left, which was all I wanted.
“Is he gone?” asked Mom. I couldn’t see her with Tiny being so huge.
“Yep,” I said. “Tiny’s the best barrier ever.”
He spread out his arms and grinned. “Size has its advantages.”
“I bet you’ve never used a step stool in your life.”
“I was taller than you in the fifth grade.” Tiny went and wedged himself in the armchair beside Mom’s bed and handed her the water mug she was trying to reach.
“My throat hurts,” said Mom.
“I’ll get you some ice cream,” I said.
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
“I know, but you need to eat.”
Mom’s lower lip poked out, but I didn’t budge. She was going to eat.
“Did someone mention eating?” Nikki walked in, carrying an enormous platter. She could’ve fit an entire goat on that thing.
“Mom claims she’s not hungry,” I said.
“I don’t want to hear anything about not eating.” Mom’s best friend, Dixie, appeared behind Nikki and Mom burst into tears.
“Now, none of that.” Dixie lowered Mom’s side rail and got right into bed with her. After twelve hours of driving, that woman looked more together than I did on any given day. Her hair was in a perfect French twist and her makeup flawless. Dixie had a forties movie star quality that I always envied. She looked like she’d stepped off the MGM lot at any given moment.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” snuffled Mom.
Uncle Morty stomped in. “I guess the rest of us are chopped liver.”
Mom blew her nose. “Hardly.”
“Good. Let’s eat.”
Aaron trotted in with another platter and put it on the foot of Mom’s bed. She was so short it fit with room to spare. Nana and Pop Pop were behind him and they looked like they’d driven for twelve hours. Nana’s blonde hair looked like she’d been in a hurricane and Pop Pop had bags under his brown eyes that reminded me of swag curtains. They hugged me until they ran out of energy. Then we ate. Mom got a malt and we got goat. And not just goat. Goat five ways. Nikki had roasted a full-sized goat in her father’s special goat-roasting pit. Who knew people had pits for that?
Nikki loaded up a plate for me and the big winners were her goat gyros with some kind of fabulous garlicky sauce and Aaron’s Moroccan goat burger. Goat wasn’t like crab. I could eat that burger every day and I just might. Aaron was going to put it on the Kronos menu after I gave it a great review. The little weirdo was so happy he was vibrating. Everyone loved the goat, including Myrtle and Millicent. Mom’s room was so packed we could hardly move, but nobody minded.
After the main courses, Uncle Morty produced a bottle of champagne and announced that my dad was on his way back. We toasted and Mom wept in joy. I was so happy and full of goat that I couldn’t bother to be nervous about it.
While we were eating Nikki’s dessert, a sticky semolina cake that didn’t look good but tasted great, Fats and her brother, Rocco, showed up. They didn’t make it all the way in. That wasn’t possible, even though Rocco didn’t fill up a room the way his sister did. He was only about five-ten, extremely fit but not hulking. Uncle Morty gave him the thumbs-up and Rocco drove The Girls home.
Uncle Morty whispered to me. “Interesting how Ace knows the Licata family. I have to check that out.”
I just nodded, afraid I’d give myself away.
He leaned closer. “Feds found the burial site with no problem. It wasn’t hidden.”
“I’m kinda afraid to ask but was that a foot in the picture?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “From what they’re saying, it was a fresh one.”
My heart sank. “How fresh?”
Uncle Morty clapped me on the back, almost making me spew goat. “Look at you getting all guilty. That body was three days old at least.”
“Thank God.”
“You done good. You gonna eat the rest of that burger?”
Uncle Morty cleaned my plate and left with everyone else at nine. Everyone except Aaron. He stood beside Mom’s bed, watching her sleep. It would’ve been a bit creepy if I hadn’t been sure he was only trying to figure how to feed her more.
Tiny had come back from his romantic dinner with Fats on the roof. If I went by the sweat on his brow, more than eating went on, which didn’t bear thinking about. Tiny rhapsodized about Fats for a good ten minutes before he situated himself between Mom and the door and started snoring. You’d think a bodyguard should stay awake, but, with Tiny, it wasn’t necessary. You’d have a hard time getting the door open with him there and you’d have to climb over his body to reach Mom. I felt the stress start to drain off me as I settled into the fold-out chair/bed.
“You’re going to have to pole vault over Tiny,” I said to Aaron. “Good luck with that.”
“No,” he said, looking to the left of my face.
“No what?”
He didn’t answer, as usual, but pulled out a crusty backpack from under Mom’s bed. He handed me a thermos and a chipped mug the size of a large measuring cup. The thermos contained my favorite style of hot chocolate, French with no flavoring except incredible chocolate from Belgium.
“You always know what I need,” I said after a sip.
“Yeah.”
“You’re staying, I take it?”
“Yeah.” With that, Aaron curled up in a ball at the foot of Mom’s bed with Wallace and immediately began snoring in rhythm with Tiny.
I covered him with a blanket and settled down in my chair with thoughts of Dad comforting me. My father would be arriving in a few hours and he’d take over, the way he always did, bossy with a load of ultimate confidence. It would be fine. Mom’s attacker was as good as caught.
But as Grandma Fontaine said in Gone with the Wind, “Don’t think you can lay down the load, ever. Because you can’t.”
Chapter Fourteen
I KNEW SOMETHING was wrong before I opened my eyes and it wasn’t just the cloud of stank pug breath I was enveloped in. I felt good, all warm and relaxed, and that wasn’t right. I was in a hospital. They were a lot of things, but relaxing isn’t one of them.
Bark.
“No.” I didn’t want to wake up and face it.
Bark.
“Nope.”
Wallace nudged my chin with her slimy nose and I snuck a peek. The pug was right in my face, breathing like she’d run a mile with her slobbery tongue hanging out. I groaned, “What’s your problem?”
But even as I said it, I knew. Mom’s room had the glowing warm morning light flowing though the drawn curtains, not to mention the chorus of snores from Aaron and Tiny. I turned over and Mom was looking at me, her green eyes sad. “He didn’t come.”
He didn’t. There was no possible way that Dad arrived in St. Louis and didn’t come to Mom’s bedside. Something happened. Part of me wanted to cry, but a bigger part wanted to hit someone, specifically Hatchet Nose. This was the FBI’s doing. I had no doubt about that.
I tucked Wallace under my arm and whispered, “I’m going to walk Wallace and figure out where Dad is.”
Mom bit her lip.
“I will. I swear. They’re not going to keep him from you.”
She nodded. “Take your bodyguard.”
“No problem.”
Tiny was a problem. I didn’t want to wake him, but I couldn’t see a way around it. I tiptoed around Mom’s bed and squatted. Maybe I could crawl under his chair. Nope. Not enough room. I stood up and found Tiny watching me. “Tommy didn’t come.”
“I know.”
“I called Morty at two. He’s on it.” Tiny got to his feet and opened the door for me.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m going to walk Wallace and check in with Morty.”
He checked his phone. “Fats is on her way. Should be here at six on the dot. Don’t be going out without her or Chuck.” He gave me a sly look.
“Chuck is not part of the equation right now.” I clipped on Wallace’s leash and headed out the door while calling Uncle Morty.
“Yeah.” Uncle Morty’s voice was oddly gentle. “Whaddya want?”
“Where’s Dad?” I asked.
“Chicago.”
“What the hell? There’s no weather. I checked last night.”
“It ain’t weather.”
And it wasn’t the FBI, not technically, anyway. Dad’s plane had arrived in Chicago right on time. He got on his flight to St. Louis as expected and then proceeded to sit on the runway for over three hours. At first, it was fuel. Then water. Then mechanical failure. They wouldn’t let anyone off and the passengers were getting restless. Dad, at his charming best, had made friends with everyone on the flight. They all knew where he was going and why. Several passengers had seen Mom’s attack on the news and they were sympathetic. One of them had overheard the flight attendants talking. They were just as exhausted and pissed. Their conversation confirmed that nothing was wrong. The flight was being held for reasons they didn’t know.
The passenger told Dad and he lost it, demanding to be let off the flight and citing some rule about letting people off after three hours on the tarmac. The other passengers joined in. Nobody got violent and they finally went back to the gate after four hours. The passengers were let off and Dad was arrested by Homeland Security for causing a disturbance on a flight. They still had him in custody.
“They did that on purpose,” I said, tears of rage filling my eyes.
“Yep.”
“What do we do?”
“Big Steve’s flying up. He’ll get him out.” That’s what Uncle Morty said, but I heard the doubt in his voice.
“They’re the government. They can hold him for all kinds of stuff.”
He was quiet.
“Why are they doing this? It can’t be just keeping Dad from solving Mom’s attack. What do they care? Dad gets all kinds of glory. Why this case? Why now?”
“I’m working on it,” he said.
“Any leads?”
“They got this wrapped up tight.”
That was the last thing I wanted to hear. If it was on a computer, Uncle Morty could get access. If it wasn’t, Dad was screwed.
“I’m going to interview Shill,” I said, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything else to do.
“Hell, no, you ain’t. He murdered that girl and she’s probably not the only one.”
“People have tried to murder me before. It hasn’t worked out for them.”
Uncle Morty chuckled deeply. “You sound like Tommy, but you’re all hat and no cattle.”
I pushed the button for the elevator and said, “Hey. I’ve got all kinds of cattle. I killed Richard Costilla. Shot him right in the face.”
A woman who’d joined me at the elevator, lured over by the so-called pug adorableness, backed away slowly like I was waving a handgun. I covered the phone and said, “It’s okay. He was trying to stab me. Self-defense.”
It didn’t help. She literally turned around and ran away. Some people. I get to shoot people in the face when they’re trying to stab me to death. Look it up, woman.
“What was that?” asked Uncle Morty.
“Nothing. I just scared the crap out of some woman.”
“Fats? That woman’s a beast.”
“No,” I said. “It wasn’t Fats. I can scare people, ya know.”
“Whatever. I don’t want you interviewing that Shill.”
“I’ll take Fats. Her mere presence might terrify the name of our unknown Unsub out of him.”
Uncle Morty thought it over and said, “That’s a decent idea.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I said.
“Your ideas run the gamut. You jumped off that damn bridge like a freaking idiot.”
“Why does everyone act like that was stupid? I was saving Angela Riley.”
“Still stupid.”
“Not.”
“Was.”
The elevator dinged and the doors opened, revealing Chuck and Sidney, looking exhausted and dirty. I’d never seen Chuck dirty like that before, like with actual dirt all over him. This couldn’t be a good sign.
“Got to go.” I hung up amid protests.
“Where are you going?” asked Chuck abruptly.
Sidney punched him in the shoulder. “We talked about this.”
They walked off the elevator and I went to get on, but Sidney snagged me. “We need to talk to you. It’s important.”
I glared at Chuck. “Will insults be included?”
Spots of pink appeared on Chuck’s chiseled cheeks and he had the good sense to appear embarrassed, even if he wasn’t. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know you weren’t doing anything wrong.”
My hands went to my hips. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Sidney pulled me away from the elevators, where people were gathering and keenly interested in us. “He’s sorry, I swear. We’ve got to talk to you. Is there a room somewhere?”
“A room? Is it Dad? Why can’t you tell me here?” My stomach lurched. For a second, I thought I might hurl right there.
“Tommy’s fine,” said Chuck. “Wait a minute. Isn’t he here with Carolina?”
I told them about Chicago and they kept a lid on the cursing.
“We need a place to talk,” said Sidney.
“Fine.” I called down the hall to a nurse. “Do you have an empty room we can use for a minute?”
She said Room 23 was empty for the moment and the detectives hustled me down there and closed the door.
I leaned on the foot of the bed. “Well?”
“We found Denny,” said Chuck softly.
“Dead, I assume.”
“Shot multiple times. We believe he was killed at your parents’ house.”
I went to the window and looked out on the busy street, coming alive on a sunny Monday morning. Denny was dead. The heavy weight of grief nearly buckled my knees and I grabbed the sill for support.
“How well did you know him?” asked Sydney, poised to write down whatever I said on an old school pad.
Denny was Dad’s first hire when he retired and set up his own shop, but I’d met him before that. David’s dad hired him to look into his son’s case. He was at the trial of the homeless man they pinned it on. Denny was very kind to me when the defense called me and I had to say things I didn’t want to say. He never believed the conviction was right any more than my father did. Dad liked Denny instantly and his attention to detail, his absolute commitment to each and every client. He had a wife and three kids. He liked to waterski and brew beer. He hated salmon, but he loved trout. His birthday was in four days and they were supposed to go to Myrtle Beach in a couple weeks.
My mind wouldn’t stop swirling on the details of Denny, how he was dead, and Mom wasn’t. I couldn’t understand it. Like David’s disappearance, maybe I never would.
“Not that well,” I said.
“Mercy,” said Chuck. “Your mother was left alive. He could’ve killed her easily, but he didn’t. He killed Denny and…”
“And?” I asked without looking back at him.
“And there’s evidence that some of the shots were fired after Denny was already dead.”
“There’s a lot of rage in that act,” said Sydney. “Denny may have been the target afte
r all.”
“No,” I said.
Sydney came closer. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s not Denny. I don’t know what happened. Maybe he went outside to take out the trash, surprised the guy, and he shot him. Mom heard and ran outside in her bare feet. If you want to murder Denny, you don’t come to Tommy Watts’ house. That’s just asking for problems. But Mom, she’s fairly quiet. She’s a homebody if she’s not doing something for Dad or charity.”
“Okay,” said Chuck. “Then why not kill her or kidnap her? It was the perfect opportunity.”
I turned around to face him, wrapping my arms around myself against the chill that may or may not have been in the room. “He was probably going to kill her, but the stroke stopped him.”
Sydney rubbed his bald head like he was trying to make sparks. “So she had a stroke. So what?”
“Time is brain,” I said, my mind working furiously. I could see Mom on the ground, her eyes locked, nearly half her brain gone.
Chuck came up slowly as if he thought he might startle me. “It’s been a long couple of days. Maybe—”
“Shush,” I said. “I’m thinking.”
The detectives backed off, watching me with pensive expressions.
“It was a Saturday afternoon. Dad was gone. I have to check Mom’s calendar, but I doubt she was doing anything. No. Wait a minute. There was baking stuff out in the kitchen. She was going to bake.”
“I don’t see how that’s relevant to leaving Carolina alive,” said Sydney.
My eyes went to Sydney’s face. “It’s the most relevant thing. Nothing was happening. I was in Sturgis and not supposed to come back for another day. When Dad’s gone, Claire doesn’t come. It’s not like we have a housekeeper.”
Chuck stretched and put his hands behind his head. He started pacing the length of the small room. “So she was alone. He killed Denny and Carolina was alone.”
“For the foreseeable future, lying on the bricks with nearly half her brain dying. Every second that goes by, it’s more cells dead. Tick. Tick. Tick.”
“He wanted her to suffer long-term, for the rest of her life.”
